Debate
by froda-baggins
Summary: A slightly AU fic detailing what exactly happens to Sands immediatley after the end of the film. Possible SandsEl eventually.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Me? Own Agent Sands? What a frightening thought. Nope, the guy is just living in my head for the time being. I am not responsible.

AN: This is my first official foray into this fandom. I hope you like it. As the summary says, it's slightly AU. My apologies if you have a major problem with that. I sat my muse down and this is the story he told me. Take it or leave it. This may become something bigger; I'm not sure. Again, the muse is completely in control here. It all depends on what he decides to give me. So you'd better enjoy it while it lasts lol!

Debate

He leans against the wall, heavily, blood pouring from his wounds, streaming down his face. His hair falls forward, but he doesn't seem to notice. Ramirez' voice.

"See you around."

"Fuck you."

__

I'm special agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I work for the CIA…

Not anymore. 

No. I have no eyes. I have no eyes, IhavenoeyesIhavenoeyesIhavenoeyes…

His head is swimming, so he finally lets go, slides down until he's sitting, legs stretched out in front of him, head leaning against the building. 

__

What now? Is this it? Do I sit here and wait to die? Do I try to get up, go looking for help?

No. Never ask for help. Always help yourself. 

But how? How do I help myself this time? I have no fucking eyes, for Christ's sake!

He sits there for what seems like hours, days, weeks, months. Maybe he loses consciousness, maybe not. He can't remember. All he knows is the pain. Everywhere, pain. His arm, his leg, his eyes. No, not his eyes. His empty sockets, screaming in pain. Footsteps approach. This is not Ramirez, he's already gone, the fucker. And it's not the kid; this person is far too big. He makes a strange jangling sound as he walks. 

__

Fuck. It's The.

The footsteps stop. 

"You failed, Agent Sands."

Sands attempts a derisive snort. It comes out sounding more like a sob.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock."

__

Leave me the fuck alone!

No! Don't leave! I need help!

"El Presidente is still alive."

"Well, good for him."

"You are dying."

__

Well, thank you Captain Obvious!

"So it would seem."

"Do you want to die?"

__

Yes. Anything is better than this.

No! I don't! Help! Get me to a hospital! Please!

"I don't think it matters so much what I want. Are you planning on helping me? Or are you just gonna stand there?"

The effort of speaking is draining what's left of his energy. The adrenaline is gone; the pain is all consuming. It drums in his ears, so he can't hear what the mariachi says next, if he says anything. He finally loses his hold on consciousness, still wondering if he will live or die.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Sands. It's more like, he owns me. 

AN: Well, this one was very surprising, for a couple of reasons. First, I didn't expect it to come so soon. It usually takes me longer than this. And second, the ending. I honestly don't have the memory of writing it. One minute I was thinking, "this needs to be longer" and the next minute I was looking at the finished thing. So, all thanks goes to the muse for that!

Debate Chapter Two

He woke slowly, if waking it could be called. His body was reluctant to come around, reluctant to acknowledge the ever-present pain. 

He also had no idea where he was, something that just made him angrier.

He was definitely in a bed, that was certain. The mattress was thin, but better than nothing, he supposed. His leg and arm were bandaged, and there was definitely cloth wrapped around his head. The smells told him he was in a hospital. 

"How long have I been out?" he asked the room at large, because he wouldn't, he _couldn't, _ask if anyone was there or not. 

"About 72 hours." Replied a voice Sands recognized. 

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

"I was waiting for you to wake up."

"Well, golly, The, I didn't know you cared."

Sands heard him stand, from the way his pants made that annoying jangling sound. 

"Is there anything you need?"

__

Not from you, fucker.

"A piss, some tequila, and a fuck."

The mariachi ignored the implications of this, and merely said, "I'll see what I can do."

Sands listened to him walk to the door. 

"And get me some more painkillers while you're at it! My head hurts like a son of a bitch!"

__

What now smartass? What are you going to do now?

What I've always done. Keep the balance.

Balance? Jesus, you probably can't even keep your own balance!

The Man with No Name. El Mariachi.

"You've failed, Agent Sands."

I have no fucking eyes!

The Man with No Face. Barillo. 

"You've only seen too much."

I have no eyes!

El Hombre sin Ojos. 

"You've failed."

No eyes noeyesnoeyes…

"Failed."

I failed once. I won't fail again.


End file.
